


Little Things

by wordcraze



Series: If I Paint You Wings [1]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-06
Updated: 2014-07-06
Packaged: 2018-02-07 18:59:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,946
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1910100
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wordcraze/pseuds/wordcraze
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry and Zayn used to be best friends, but they haven’t talked in years. Their high school graduation is right around the corner. Will they reconcile?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Little Things

**Author's Note:**

> This one shot is a “prologue” to the upcoming college Zarry fic.

Ten-year old Zayn Malik had never looked so scared in his life. But Harry, who would be ten in a month, wanted to impress his older friend, so he grinned smugly at Zayn’s fear.

"Harry!" Zayn called out, his voice cracking in terror. Harry had edged to the side of the roof, showing off how utterly fearless he was.

"Z, watch. Watch how close I am. C’mon, Z!" Harry scooted forward until the tips of his shoes were past the edge of the roof. The adrenaline was absolutely insane, and he felt invincible. What if he could fly? Harry wanted to continue to show off, so he stood on one foot, then looked over his shoulder at the other boy. "Look, Z. One foot!" He stared down at the concrete, and all of a sudden, there was no longer that exciting adrenaline. Just dizziness. He began teetering forward, and a cold dread came over him. He was just about to scream out, when a pair of arms circled his waist and dragged him back from the ledge.

Harry landed back on something warm and soft, breaking his fall. But whatever he had landed on grunted in slight pain.

"Z?" Harry scrambled off him, then gingerly touched his shoulder just in case he was really hurt. "You saved me!"

Zayn winced, and tried to sit up, then rubbed the back of his head. “You were being stupid and almost died! You’re so dumb sometimes, Harry!” he shoved the other boy away, and scooted back from him.

Harry sat there in silence, pouting a little. He didn’t like it when Zayn got mad at him, and he did it just now without even meaning to. Harry chewed on his bottom lip, then moved a bit closer to him, and put an arm around his shoulders. “You’re my best friend, Zayn.”

Zayn’s tense muscles relaxed, like those were magic words. In a way, they were. He took a deep breath, and tried to let go of that combination of fright and anger. Then he shut his eyes and leaned against Harry. “You’re my best friend too.”

They both felt better. It was always the little things.

—-

Harry didn’t know that in eight years time, he and Zayn would be sitting on opposite ends of the cafeteria. Since they were younger, high school was all they talked about, all they fantasized about. They’d take over, and they would be popular just like in the movies. It was the silliest dream, but they latched on to it. Harry more than Zayn. So when Harry had a shot and Zayn didn’t, he left him behind, which was something he never intended to do. But no matter how many times he’d tell himself “I never intended to,” it didn’t change the fact that they hadn’t exchanged words in the past four years.

"Styles!" a voice snapped him out of his reverie. Harry smiled apologetically at Nick, who had been rambling on about a roadtrip right after graduation. "Where’s your head at?"

Harry’s eyes flickered towards the table on the far end of the cafeteria. “Sorry. Go on.” As Nick continued, Harry continued to glance at that other table. Zayn was there, surrounded by friends, just as Harry was. It was not so surprising how Zayn achieved a certain kind of popularity on his own without even lifting a finger. Harry was prom king, student body president of Dennison high school, with extracurriculars that put most to shame, whereas Zayn was all leather jackets, boots, and mystery. Apparently, some people took a liking to that too.

They drifted about a year before high school began, when Harry was ready and willing to give up a friendship for the promises of Dennison high royalty. His group back then wasn’t too interested in letting Zayn in, considering him to be “too weird,” and they also had a few things to say about his mixed heritage. Harry was shocked at the latter, but he kept his mouth shut. He remembered crying a little about it later on.

Now, he was still continuing to pay for his mistakes in silence, but the raging hurt was currently just a dull ache. It had healed a bit during the years, but not completely. Though it was ironic how popular Zayn had become just for the sole reason that he was the opposite of the conventional cool. Harry had to smile a little at life’s humor.

Zayn had looked up, meeting Harry’s eyes briefly. Harry panicked, and quickly averted his gaze, staring hard at the table top, like it had never happened.

"Strange lad," Nick said.

"What?" Harry replied quickly and nervously.

"Zayn Malik. I hear him and his lot go to the city at night and shop lift," Nick snorted.

Then another person at their table chimed in, “You reckon if someone leaves an anonymous tip to the police, then he’d be in trouble?”

The back of Harry’s neck began to heat up, “He’s not like that,” he snapped. His friends all turned to look at him curiously, and Harry began to think of a way out of this. “I hear his parents are rich. Sort of dumb to be shop lifting if you’re loaded.”

They all shrugged, murmured their agreements, then went back to their usual chatter. Harry let out a sigh of relief, not daring to look back at Zayn’s table.

—-  
He had one class with Zayn, and as usual, they sat on opposite ends of the room. They both had this silent and mutual agreement that they’d avoid each other at all costs, since they were well aware that a confrontation would never end well. Harry was in the wrong. He had always been in the wrong, and he didn’t need Zayn telling him that.

It was just a shame though. A damn shame. They had such innocence, this wide-eyed naivety when it came to “forever.” As small boys, they often used that word, and how they would be “best friends forever” like there was no other option. And back then, Harry believed it. Zayn was the best option. The only option he’d consider. And now, this was what they were reduced to. Opposite ends in every room.

As if on instinct, Harry turned to look at Zayn. This time it surprised him how quickly Zayn’s head whipped forward, then back down to stare at his notebook. It was a curious thing, like he’d been staring at Harry all along. Come to think of it, this happened often, on both ends. Maybe friendships aren’t so easy to throw away, but Harry was also logical. This couldn’t be mended. Zayn wouldn’t forgive him.

He couldn’t help but recall a moment they had, the summer before their freshmen year. It was an attempt at reconciling, and both boys were willing. Harry gave Zayn a Dennison jacket, gray with a red “D” sewn on; one he’d been excited to wear himself. But he gave it to Zayn as a token of friendship, and perhaps a promise. A promise that neither of them went through with. Harry never saw Zayn wear that jacket.

Harry had gotten into a college far from home, and perhaps this could be the one thing that could heal him completely. To be away from Zayn, and not see him again was the only way to go about it. And it would be good for Zayn too. At least that’s what Harry told himself. And just maybe, in the far off future twenty years from now, they’d be able to greet each other with a bit of civility like regular adults.  
—-

"Stop fussing, Harry! You look handsome!"

"Mum!" Harry whined, and gently pushed his mother hand aside to keep her from further messing with his hair. "You’re the one that’s fussing."

Graduation day came quickly, and was a success. No tripping on stage, no mispronunciation of names, and no overall bad luck so far, and Harry wanted to keep it that way. This was what he wanted. Get graduation over and done with, then lay low over the summer before he went off to college. It was the perfect plan.

His friends and family were present, and he was momentarily distracted from trying to entertain them all, when he spotted Zayn through the corner of his eye. There was a tiny stab in his chest. When they were younger, Harry remembered talking to Zayn about this day, and how they would just jump in a car right after the ceremony, and spend the entire summer together. What plans. What innocence. And Harry added silently to himself again What a shame.

"Oh my goodness, is that you? ZAYN!" came his mum’s voice. Harry felt like his blood froze in his veins.

No, no, no.

He was about to grab his mother’s arm, but she had already bounded over to Zayn. “Oh, look at you! I haven’t seen you round our house since you were tiny. Looking so handsome too— HARRY! Harry, come here, I want to take a photo of you and Zayn!”

Harry wanted to curl up and disappear. He forced himself to look over at Zayn, who despite his discomfort, was polite and always willing to please.

"Erm… I think he’s busy with his friends," Zayn said quietly, but Anne shushed him, and insisted that Harry was never too busy for his ‘best mate.’ Well, this was awkward.

Harry took his time as he shuffled closer to them. “Hold on, I don’t want anymore photos wearing this robe.” It truly was the ugliest thing, so he pulled it over his head, and handed it over to his mother.

"Oh, but Harry, don’t you want a nice reminder with your robe—" Anne began to say, but Harry interrupted.

"Mum, you’ve got enough pictures with the robe. Besides, what I’m wearing is fine."

Zayn on the other hand looked hesitant, but he began to tug the robe off, with trembling hands, Harry noticed. What he wore underneath caused Harry’s eyes to widen in disbelief, unsure if he was truly seeing right. Zayn was wearing Harry’s Dennison jacket. Never in those four years had Zayn worn any piece of clothing that had to do with school spirit, so why start now? Harry wouldn’t dare ask, especially since Zayn looked like it was the last thing he wanted to talk about.

"Closer, boys!" Anne chirped happily, holding up the camera like nothing was wrong. Harry and Zayn shuffled together awkwardly, with their arms hanging at their sides. "Oh for god’s sake, boys! Arms around each other, at least, and give us a smile!" And who were they to deny a proud, but blissfully ignorant parent a Kodak moment? The both of them forced on a happy face, and put their arms around each other, playing the role of best friends. It was an easy role to play, as they had lived it. And yet, it was the hardest. The second after the flash went off, they pulled away from each other without a single word, but Harry found that he couldn’t just let it end like this.

"Zayn," he called out, just as the boy was walking away. Zayn stopped, turned around slowly, and faced him. Harry took a deep breath, wanting to say so much, and so little at the same time. "Congratulations."

A ghost of a smile came on Zayn’s lips, and he nodded. Perhaps he wanted to say so much, and so little as well. “You too, Harry.”

Then he walked away, and Harry noticed Zayn’s hand gently touching the sleeve of his jacket, Harry’s jacket. Almost fondly, with shaking fingers.

It was always the little things.


End file.
